


Don't Cast Away

by woollen_pharaohs



Category: The Tomorrow People (2013)
Genre: M/M, Profanity, extreme depictions of blood, extreme depictions of violence, social movement
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-18 18:12:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1437814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woollen_pharaohs/pseuds/woollen_pharaohs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after episode 13, 'Things Fall Apart', borrowing some plot points from episode 14, but predominately diverges from episode 13. John is expelled from the lair and Stephen invites him to stay at his place for a while. Stephen just needs someone to talk to; his best friend has become a recluse, Cara's gone power hungry and his Mum is actively avoiding him, John's all he's got left. Meanwhile, a group of Tomorrow People band together and organise a grand protest against the rich and powerful which in turn, threatens the unveiling of people with supernatural powers to the unprepared world. This forces the Tomorrow People to decide whether they have a place in this world or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This story contains extreme depictions of violence and blood. It also contains mentions of an act which can be read as a potential attempt at suicide.

i.

Stephen grips onto the railings of the Empire State Building, an observation deck unsafe for tourists. The wind whips against him, telekinesis holds his feet in position, ties his hands to the steel railings. He wonders what would happen if he let go, let the wind bully him, push him around. Would he float with the wind, an unseen force, his telekinesis an extension of nature.

It's something Stephen has always wanted to try; a leap of faith, ultimate sky diving. He could pelt himself off the tallest building, the Empire State, or maybe Burj Khalifa one day. And he could flash to any height he wants, at any point; to stay in motion with the wind currents, or to fall, crash through the bridges of air, and teleport right before his face hits the ground. It's not the near death thing he's interested in, although he can't deny the thrill of the free adrenalin shot. He would do it to test his powers, to learn, to grow. His powers could be like a game, he might have to get experience to level up, sharpen his skills.

That's something he doesn't do a lot of. He trains his body, human skills. Fighting styles, that kind of stuff. Tomorrow People have been around for at least half a century but no one's made a skill out of it, a way of battle, a way of living and thinking and fighting. Because they've had to hide, afraid of extermination. It's ingrained in Stephen to not stand out, to not push anyone around, you're meant to be equal but some are more equal than others.

So he doesn't make that brave step, doesn't push himself, he does what he's told, stays hidden. It's self preservation and maybe a bit of fear, maybe. Fear's never hurt anyone, just makes you weary, makes you conscious of your possible expiry date.

The bright cityscape shimmers around him, fizzles to the warm hues of his bedroom, light shining in through the window, a minute division of the misguided direction of the sunlight in the city. Stephen falls back on his bed. He's got the power to be anywhere in the world, freedom at his fingertips, yet he feels absolutely trapped.

No one's talking to him.

His best friend has become a recluse, Cara's silence conveys her anger over Stephen siding with John, his Mum… well, it seems to him like she's been picking up as many shifts as she can just so she won't have to have that conversation with him. Not the one about puberty, although that probably could have helped too. That one where she should sit down with Stephen, say, _son, it's normal, you're normal_. Except he's not, and she's not, and he just wants her to explain why she put him through all that medical psychological shit when she fully well knew there could only be one possible explanation for why he was turning up in their neighbours beds.

Stephen rolls over onto his side, taps the keyboard of his laptop without having to lift a finger. He tries skyping Astrid again. It's midday, she's gotta be awake by now.

She doesn't pick up.

Stephen had tried calling, texting, skyping, even emailing, Astrid only a million times since Ultra tried to kill her. Twice. He's not saying Astrid shouldn't be careful, anyone should be after what she's been through. All he's saying is that there's no reason to be scared anymore, he's made deals with the devil to ensure no one attempts to assassinate Astrid again. He's gone through so much just to make sure that his best friend is safe. That's what he wants her to know, that he's made it okay again.

Well, also, Stephen kind of needs to talk to Astrid, about stuff going on in his life. He can't keep it to himself anymore, he just needs to talk it out and let someone else tell him what he should do. He's tired of making his own decisions. Decisions made that are meant to help, but end up getting people imprisoned. Who knows if Ultra is going to end up experimenting on Cassandra like before? Stephen would like to live in denial and think that the Founder is treating her well, giving her the life a spoilt daughter should get, but he knows, considering she's one of the most powerful Tomorrow People, she's probably never going to be safe.

It's probably time to stop trying to save people, for a while at least. Let things cools off. Allow for time for the saved to recuperate, get their lives back on track, start talking to their friends again. Now, how long does that usually take?

 

 ii.

"You know, you guys should probably take my ps3, I don't play it anymore, don't have time. Might be some good entertainment for the Tomorrow People locked down there. I've got two controllers," Stephen says as he leads John into the kitchen.

John leans against the kitchen island, crosses his arms, "what's a ps3?"

Stephen riffles through the kitchen cupboard, speaks of his shoulder, "it's a game console, didn't you ever play video games?"

"No, I … didn't have time,"

"Man, you've gotta give it a go. We can play tonight, although, that's probably a bad idea. Once I start playing again I don't want to do anything else."

John is silent, stares off into space.

"Don't even try to read me, you won't get anything," John says.

Stephen freezes, "I wasn't…"

"While you're trying to read me, I'm reading you right back. There's nothing for dinner is there?"

Stephen turns to face John, scratches the back of his neck, "yeah, I guess Mum hasn't done the groceries in a while."

"She hasn't been around?" John asks, delving into Stephen's mind.

"Hey, stop. She's just, she's been working a lot lately so…"

Stephen can tell Luca's home before he even comes through the front door. He's got no reason to feel nervous, Luca's his brother, but he does anyway, maybe it's the ominous presence of John that makes him feel this way.

John feels the presence too, he stands straight, unfolds his arms.

The front door closes and shortly after, Luca comes into the kitchen.

"Oh, hey Stephen. Who's this?"

Stephen glances nervously at John, "he's ugh, John, a friend from…"

 _Stephen you are the worst at improvisation_ , John thinks to Stephen, "from work," John finishes.

"I thought you quit?"

"He did. For a day. But we wanted him back," John says, winks at Stephen.

Luca frowns, "okay, well it's nice to meet you John," Luca says as he slumps down at the kitchen table, school bag sinking to the floor.

 _I'll be back in a minute_ , John thinks to Stephen, who nods in response.

Luca begins kicking off his shoes, "where's Mum?"

"At work still…"

"Aw man, don't tell me you're going to make dinner then Stephen?"

"Hey, I'm a good cook," Stephen says defensively.

"You tried to cook a _single raw egg_ in the oven…" Luca laughs.

"The power was out! I could only use gas…"

"Yeah you know the stove is gas too right?" Luca laughs again.

John returns to the kitchen, a large metal dish covering a platter of food, "don't worry boys, I've got dinner covered."

As John sets the dish on the kitchen table, Stephen sends a message, _what did you do?_

 _Nothing illegal, I promise_ , John grins. He lifts the lid of the dish revealing a roasted duck sitting on a bed of roasted vegetables and gravy.

"Did you _make_ this?" Luca asks, incredulous.

John helps Stephen set out plates and cutlery, "it's… _take away_ ,"

Luca takes a sweet potato in his fingers and drops it in his mouth, "this is the fanciest take away I've ever had!"

 

Stephen sets up the couch for John, not the comfiest spot, but their house is small, barely enough room for there to be three bedrooms. It's also not the most private of places to sleep, he's worried that if his Mum does come home, she might wake him up. He did try to tell her, he called and texted as many times as he did Astrid, it's not his fault that they don't want to listen to him.

 _Thanks for letting me stay_ , John sends to Stephen, a whisper, like he's expecting Stephen to be asleep.

Stephen throws his pillow over his face, he wishes he was asleep. He's spent too many nights worrying about everything, he needs a good night's sleep.

 _I don't condone stealing_.

_Is that your way of saying thanks for the dinner?_

Stephen doesn't say anything back, he waits.

_I didn't steal it._

_You didn't pay for it._

_You really want to know? There are really rich guys in this world Stephen. People so rich they don't even care how much things cost. They have marble on their sidewalks, diamond encrusted toilet seats. They have their chefs make ten meals a night just because they can afford it. Because the amount it costs to make ten meals with five courses each doesn't even make a mark in their wallet. That's who I took our dinner from. They wouldn't miss it. They wouldn't even know it's gone._

Stephen removes the pillow from his face, hugs it in his arms, _What, are you Robin Hood now?_

_So what if I am, the power in this world is unevenly balanced._

_That's rich coming from someone with superpowers._

_Well, I think we have these powers to make a difference in the world. Rock those rich fool's boat. Revolt._

_That's why Ultra exists._

_Yes, and until Ultra is no longer a threat, we'll have to continue hiding._

_Most Tomorrow People are fine with that. Cara is. I am._

_Are you? I'm not. I don't think hiding is what we should be doing. We should be fighting back, make ourselves known. Guess that's why I'm here though, if I don't agree with Cara and the others, well, I'm not allowed to be there, stirring up trouble._

Stephen sits up in bed, no way can he sleep now.

_Do you miss her?_

_I love her, of course I miss her._

_She'll come around._

_I don't think she will, not this time._

Stephen rolls over, pulls the blankets over his head. He waits for a bit, thinks maybe John might have gone to sleep. He taps on John's door, tries to get in, the glass is too thick.

_John… did you know my Mum was a Tomorrow Person?_

_Is she?_

_Yeah… That second attack Ultra made on her and Astrid and Astrid's dad, I couldn't get there in time. I was sick in my stomach, the glass was shattered, the tables were all flipped over. I thought they were dead for sure. But there was Mum, standing with her hands out, she held all the bullets in place. All of them, completely stationery in mid air._

_It makes sense for her to be a Tomorrow Person, you're so powerful, could only have happened if your parents are powerful too._

_Yeah so why didn't she tell me? I haven't been able to ask her, I haven't seen her since. I just want answers you know? If she had powers, she must have known I did too… why would she send me to therapy? Why didn't she just tell me…_

_She's got to have her reasons. I guess you've got to wait for her to feel ready to talk about it._

_But it's been two weeks. How much more time does she need?_

Stephen's got a plan, it's not the greatest, or the safest, but it's the last option he has. It didn't go so well with Astrid, might go better for his mother.

_I want to catch her at work. Not like an ambush, but you know, if she's in a public space, there's no way she can escape… god that sounds bad. You know what I mean. John, could you, could you come with me?_

John's telepathic wave is dead for a while, silent, he's thinking it over, then, _sure, whatever you need_.

 

 iii.

"I don't feel comfortable sitting out here, I feel so… exposed," Stephen says, hunched over a warm cup of hot chocolate.

Stephen pulls at the sleeves of his jacket, covers just a millimetre of skin for about half a second before the fabric retracts to its previous position. John sits opposite him, a little too relaxed, legs out stretched, arms draped over the side of the wooden chair. This guy, he's a chameleon in any scenario.

John sighs and says mockingly, "I haven't been to a café in close to a decade, it's so _civil_ ,"

Stephen rolls his eyes. The marshmallow in the hot chocolate sinks further into the milk. Stephen shivers. It was his idea to go see his Mum, but he can't quite bring up the courage to walk into the hospital. They'd taken the bus to the nearest subway station, deciding that civilian transport was probably the best way to go. But he hadn't been able to get his feet to land on the first step to the underground. The wind from the rushing trains streaming right up the stairwell, brushing passed his body and he's thinking of being up on the Empire State Building again, can he make that step?

Stephen takes a sip of his milk, the heat rippling through his body.

"I bet an Ultra agent is going to come around the corner any minute and arrest me for conspiring with the enemy," Stephen says, throwing a sideways glance at John.

"I can leave if you really want me to," John says, beginning to slip out of the chair.

 _No, no I need you_ , Stephen thinks to John, quickly adds, _I mean for like, moral support or whatever._

John relaxes in the chair again, smirks "your hot chocolate's probably getting cold."

"I like it that way," Stephen says, wrapping his hands around the now lukewarm mug.

John blinks and folds his arms. He stares off into the architecture of the surrounding buildings, Stephen wonders where his mind goes. He's never allowed in.

"Hurry up and finish, we should get going," John says without looking at Stephen.

"Don't rush me,"

"If I don't, no one will," John turns to Stephen, his lips set in a thin straight line.

_Are you angry at me?_

_What's the point of stalling?_ John thinks to Stephen, looking at the buildings again, face neutral.

Stephen is about to answer when he hears a scream. The sound of it seems to echo off the window panes of each high rise, the sound scraping against finely cut glass. It's hard to tell if the source is singular or it's the sound of group in terror. John is immediately alert, on his feet, scanning for the source. In the middle of a plaza, not far from one of the larger, more spectacular buildings in the area, a crowd is locked into a tight circle, a blockade.

Stephen and John don't need to debate it; they've seen enough Tomorrow People shenanigans to recognize supernatural powers in use. They leave their hot drinks behind and make their way towards the circle. They have to ignore their instincts to teleport closer, and instead, weave their way through the crowd of lunch goers until they get to the plaza.

Up close, the circle of people is one person thin, and within the circle, a collection of about fifty people run around wildly, confused, scared. Some try to nudge their way through the chain of people but they cannot be moved, stone statues aware.

One second John is beside Stephen, looking in through the gaps of heads, and the next he's in the circle pit; Stephen has no choice but to follow.

 

 iv.

Stephen pushes his way through the thick swamp of people. Bodies wandering around lost in the trap, confused; on their feet, under Stephen's feet, floors and walls made from flesh and bones. Red clouds his vision, red smeared across people's arms, legs, faces, red gushing from their necks, and their mouths hung wide open, silent shouts. A loud ringing noise penetrates his ears, an alarm, a flock of sirens. Stephen always wondered why whenever there was an emergency at an office or a factory, the alarm would cause red lights to flash, as if red is the most calming colour. Alarms are meant to go off to tell you to get out, to remain calm but to get the fuck out. Stephen couldn't leave without John. It was partly Stephen's fault that John is even involved in this mess.

Something grabs onto his leg and Stephen screams, kicks away the damp claws clinging for life. The floor beneath his shoes is slippery, feels like he's walking through mud, squashed beneath lost sheep. His shoes are tough but the sound, the squelch, he can feel the _mud_ between his toes. He has to focus on the alarm, forced to anyway, but he relies on the sign of the sirens to block out everyone's thoughts, it's better to get a head ache from the alarm than to register what the panicked people are thinking.

Stephen wades through the crowd, feels like hours, squeezing his way through people. He focuses on the sirens, it drowns out their screams, or maybe they're too afraid to make a sound at all. It's a blood bath. Stephen didn't see them coming but they're killing. They could be Tomorrow People, they could be humans. Whoever is doing this, they're organised, and they're _killing_ people.

 _John, where are you?_ Stephen pleads in his mind, can John sense his fear? Will John let down his guard for one second, let Stephen search for him.

It's hot, and it stinks. Stephen swallows down the bile he's got lurching in his throat, the scent of slick body parts all over him is really starting to get to him. Someone latches onto Stephen's arm, yanks him around. Stephen is immediately defensive, but he's relieved to see it's John. In a split second he feels safe, albeit as safe as he felt on the porch of the café, wary that any Ultra agent could come around at any point.

 _We have to get out of here_ , John's voice pierces through Stephen's mind, he's careless, makes his words too sharp and it cuts through the sirens still echoing in Stephen's head.

Then the second is over, time starts ticking on to the next seconds, but Stephen's unprepared for what happens next. A Morning Star flings through the air, the spiked ball giggling on its chain. It's too much of an absurd sight, it happens too fast even as Stephen's time stopping comes into motion, and the spikes come down on John's shoulder. The iron rips through John's skin in slow motion, and in the pocket of time Stephen makes for him and John, Stephen can acutely hear the ripping of cotton threads, the shredding of flesh as the Morning Star destroys John's muscles.

Time regular in the pocket, the Morning Star lodges into John's back. He howls, eyes clenched so tight that he might never see again. Stephen slips his arms around John's waist, focuses his energy on teleporting, and as space and time shimmers around them he sees the face of a woman over John's shoulder. Her features rip through time, skin smears the air, muscles fighting for agency and her eyes, enraged imprint Stephen's face in her mind. The stench and the red and the slush begin to fade to the brown dry smell of the subway, John's screams bouncing off the brick walls.

 

v.

Stephen's Mum being a nurse isn't as useful as he'd like it to be. She works all the time, home at different hours of the day. Even when she wasn't actively trying to avoid him, he was never sure whether she'll be home or at work, or how long she'll be at either places. Looking back, his Mum was always hard to get onto. Maybe the fact that she's ignoring him is all in his head.

It didn't really matter in the end, since starting to work at Ultra, he got regular medical check done on him, he didn't really need his Mum to be available to patch him up. It's better that she doesn't know he gets hurt. But what with John being a fugitive from Ultra, he can't exactly waltz in and expect them to treat John. And taking him to his Mum's work was going to raise a lot of questions, this kind of thing is really best kept under wraps.

He doesn't exactly want to make a big showy entrance, but that hallway between the old railway lines and the foyer of Cara's base is the only spot he can safely teleport to, so he's kind of force to show everyone how badly hurt John is. Plus, you know, John's in quite a bit of pain, and sound travels really well in an underground subway.

He's not expecting a big welcoming or anything, considering the majority of the people still here are the ones who voted John out, voted for Cara to become the new leader. Even so, Stephen doubts they'll kick up a big fuss about him bringing John back. Well, what are they gonna do? Kick a Tomorrow Person in need out? Cara doesn't have that sort of influence of them, they still have their humanity.

As Stephen drags John out of the entranceway, people start to get to their feet. Russell drops his bag of potato chips all over the ground, rushes over to them, "Dude you shouldn't be here,"

Stephen hoists a moaning John on his back, takes him toward the office, "we're only here for TIM and that's it,"

"Oh my god is that a _morning star_? Who the heck uses those anymore? Wait, wait, don't tell me you can not only stop time, you can go back in time? Oh my god, that is so cool, you have to teach me how to time travel,"

"He's _hurt_ , Rus," Stephen leers, pushes his way towards the office door.

"Right, right. I'm sorry, let me help," Russell opens the door for them.

Cara, sitting at the desk, leaps to her feet and shouts, "John, you're not allowed back here!"

Stephen helps John toward the centre table while Russell clears everything off it.

"I mean it Stephen, John cannot be here!" Cara roars.

Once John is laid down on the table, Stephen allows himself to snap, "you have no idea what's going on out there! I can't take John to see Mum, not in broad daylight. And he kinda needs urgent medical attention, if you hadn't noticed."

Cara furrows her eyebrows, scrutinizes the ancient weapon poking out of John's shoulder. She folds her arms, "so you're just here for surgery?"

"Yeah, sure, then we'll be out of your hair. Geez, aren't you just a little worried about him?" Stephen questions.

Cara stares wide eyed at Stephen, he breaks the competition purposefully, turns to John. He braces himself, then begins to peel away John's bloody shirt. He takes hold of the Morning Star with his telekinesis, wrenches it out of John's shoulder. John howls, body writhing. Russell quickly applies pressure with a bundle of clean cloth against the open wound.

Wincing, Cara says with a cracked voice, "TIM, initiate puppet surgery."

 

.intermission.

Stephen's no surgeon, but he did the best he could. TIM's databases are pretty extensive, if only Stephen's father and uncle had built TIM as a cyborg with arms and legs. Then TIM would be able to perform surgery on its own. Actually… that would be pretty creepy. Ever since seeing Wallace and Gromit's _The Wrong Trousers_ as a kid, Stephen has been terrified of robots in all forms. Movies where the robots look just like humans only make it worse.

Stephen wheels the desk chair around to the centre table and sets by John, watches him sleep. Stephen feels momentarily bad for John, can't be very comfortable lying on a wooden table. Feels worse that he froze time too late. Stephen could have stopped this from even happening. Too bad he can't really travel back in time, not that he's tried exactly. Another moment where making that next step could change everything.

Stephen's phone vibrates in his pocket. It kept going off during surgery, it had gone quiet for a bit afterwards. He checks the screen, oh, only over twenty missed calls from Ultra, not bad, not bad.

He rolls his phone over in his hand a few times, clicks the cover off and back on again. One of these days he's going to click it off and it won't go back on and Stephen will be too cheap to buy another one, he'll just tape it together. The phone vibrates again.

 _Just answer it already. I'll be fine_ , John thinks to Stephen.

Stephen smiles, tries to read John. Even in excruciating pain, John still builds up all his energy into blocking people out.

Stephen sighs, he knows he can't put off getting back to Ultra much longer. He drags his finger across the phone's screen, prepares for the inevitable.

 _Just In_ at Fox News, this is Mallory Berhe, reporting to you about today's events. A radical social movement group has taken protesting to a frightening level. The group were, at first, peacefully advocating outside of Marc Jacob's offices, supposedly against the recent discovery that the high profile fashion designer had been using endangered animal furs for its new Fall line.

The protesting took a sour turn when the gang somehow trapped businesspeople in a circle and began physically attacking them. Reports have arisen that unusual weapons were used such as sledgehammers, Japanese swords, spiked balls on chains, _ninja stars_ and other historic and/or absurd melee weapons to inflict damage on the defenceless businesspeople.

Police and ambulances arrived at the scene of the crime shortly after the battle began, but by that time considerable damage had been done. Thirty-One Americans have been hospitalized in critical condition and twenty-seven Americans are deceased.

Police were unable to apprehend the terrorists, and are currently hunting them down. As of yet, no descriptions of the terrorists are available. Any suspicious behaviour seen in heavily populated public spaces should be notified to the authorities.

We are about to head to the Chief of Police to discuss tips on how to best protect yourselves in public spaces.

 

vi.

Stephen takes the elevator up to his floor on Ultra, his skin crawling. He's afraid of leaving John down there, afraid that if he wakes up, he might start a fight with Cara. John still won't let Stephen in, won't let him hear what John's thinking. The man's unstoppable. Unreadable.

The doors of the elevator slide open and Stephen is taken back by the chaos of the place. Workers running around, slipping on the concrete floor. The people sitting down shout over the top of each other, yell down phone lines, jab their fingers at computer screens. Jedikiah, sitting at his desk, gets up when he spots Stephen through the glass walls.

"Stephen, Jesus Christ where have you been?" Jedikiah says, ushering Stephen into his office.

Hillary sits anxiously on the seat opposite Jedikiah's. She rubs her wrists anxiously, pressing down her skin until it turns its whitest. Stephen takes the seat beside her, practices a few lies in his head in preparation.

"What's going on?" Stephen says, resting his foot on his opposite knee, playing it cool.

Jedikiah practically has a heart attack, "It's _war_ , Stephen."

"What do you mean?" Hillary says, glancing at Stephen.

"For years we have captured break outs before they could make a mess of the world. For years… we have been able to keep the human race safe. Now, under our very eyes, a break out has truly broken out. And they're unstoppable."

Jedikiah turns his computer screen towards Stephen and Hillary, begins to play a video. It's security camera footage of the slaughter Stephen had just witnessed. Thankfully this particular footage is at such an angle that it doesn't show Stephen and John's arrival, nevertheless, Stephen's heart throbs in his throat.

"They're not Tomorrow People are they?" Stephen says, eyes fixated on the blocky pixels of the video.

"They're… they're killing people," Hillary whispers.

"They are, wait until the end," Jedikiah says, voice full of anger.

The fighting goes on for a few minutes, it takes all of Stephen's focus to not look away, to not throw up right on Jedikiah's crystalline desk. Ambulances and police cars begin to pull up at the scene, parking all around the group. The circle disperses, and people move in a disorderly fashion. It's messy, but in one second the crowd divides, all at once the amount of visible people is cut in half. Jedikiah rewinds and plays it again, slower. The slowed down version of the video shows people teleporting out, a timed motion.

"They all teleported out at once, but to different spots across New York. It's easier when a group teleport at once, to a designated spot, but when they disperse themselves across the city, it's completely untraceable. All we know is that they didn't teleport in, they mobilised like humans, escapes like mutants."

"Like _Tomorrow People_ ," Stephen corrects.

Jedikiah leans back in his chair, squints at Stephen, "I'm sorry did you not just see the absolute massacre _your_ people just inflicted on mankind?"

"They're not _my_ people, I don't know who they are," Stephen says exasperated.

"Stephen, I'm not sure you've totally understood what's really happened here. Tomorrow People have made a public display of their powers, and thus, our whole business's integrity is on the line."

"What does that mean for Ultra?" Hillary asks quietly, still in shock.

"It means we're going to be absolutely scrupulous in trying to catch these guys. Dead or alive, preferably dead. We're going to have Tomorrow People Ultra agents and regular Ultra agents on the hunt for them. We have to capture them before the rest of the world starts to catch on about what's really happening here. Do you understand? It is total war. The world is not ready for what you can do."

"But how do we stop them? How are those Tomorrow People killing?" Hillary asks, her face drained of colour.

"We suspect they are using a training method that we are going to be teaching all of our Tomorrow People here at Ultra; to kill without the intention of killing."

 

TBC.


	2. Chapter 2

vii.

Everyone's on edge at Ultra, nervous, and it's catching. Stephen stumbles into the training room behind Hillary, his skin crawling. You know Ultra really means business when they gather every single Tomorrow Person and Ultra Agent they have at their disposal into one room, to train all together, all at once. Agents flank the wall, some looking as nervous as Stephen, others looking fierce, jaws set tight. This kind of training, Stephen's never seen it done before here at Ultra. It's like they're an army now, training for a war.

Isn't that what Jedikiah said? _This is war_.

The instructor, Durreen, stands in the centre of the room. She begins to call Agents to her, one by one, to test their skills. Only a handful show varied fighting tactics, the mark of new acquisitions. Stephen finds it hard to breathe, the air in the room is heavy, tight. The sounds of Agents sparing seem hollow and empty, but even still they're hammers in Stephen's ears.

Stephen presses his back against the wall, suctions his palms against the glass. He keeps the weight off his ankles, just for something to do really. He's missing out on sleep, can't keep focused, can't keep his mind off John bleeding out in his arms.

Durreen calls Hillary out, she does well, but no one has beat the instructor yet. Stephen isn't taking it as a challenge. He's next and he doesn't have to be a time traveller to know that he's going to go badly. He's lazy, makes sloppy movements in his sweatpants. Durreen easily wins by catching Stephen in a head lock.

Her eyes, small and cold, chisel into Stephen's. She positions her mouth next to Stephen's ear, but she shouts so everyone can hear, "what are you afraid of?"

Stephen wriggles in her grasp, begins to build electricity beneath his fingertips. Durreen only tightens her grip, closes in around Stephen's neck.

"Pain?"

Stephen pushes against her grip with his telekinesis, but it's cancelled out with hers.

"Failure?"

Instinctively Stephen tries to get away in the quickest and most effective way he can, he teleports. Durreen counters by pulling him back each and every time, flashes of light jump across the room as Stephen fails to escape.

When she speaks, her voice echoes in the training room and in his mind, the word is heard as if it is spoken through a telephone wire strung between each Tomorrow Person in the room, "death?"

Durreen, mid air with Stephen, lets go of Stephen and lets him drop to the floor. She rematerializes a split second later, standing upright, feet either side of Stephen's waist. She steps over him, helps him up. Stephen pants, head spinning. The sounds of hoots and gasps in the room bounce off dry air, thump in his ears.

 _Stephen, are you okay?_ Cara sends, sounding concerned.

Even his thoughts sound choked, _I'm fine, just training._

Durreen waits until Stephen settles himself against the wall again, then she looks at her Agents, scrutinizes them.

Clearing her voice, she says evenly, "forget work, forget sleep, forget all other commitmens. We are at _war_ , ladies and gentlemen. We have little time to prepare and you're our only army. A piss weak, disorganised army might I add. Now, as your commander it is my job to analyse your strengths and weaknesses, to train you all into a cohesive team. I understand the way you fight, now you must forget that and understand how _I_ fight. What I am going to teach you is how you will fight from here on out. My way you will win. You want to win the war, don't you?"

Hoots and cheers erupt in the room. Hillary leans over to Stephen and whispers, "I didn't sign up for this,"

Stephen's eyes twitch, "guess they didn't know if the success rate of the serum is high enough to put us all through torture."

"So brainwashing us is the next best thing?"

"That's how the best armies are made."

 

viii.

John lies stomach side down on the wooden table, he is in no way comfortable. Sure, his shoulder doesn't hurt as much, it just tingles, constantly, and oh boy is it itchy. He can take that, what he can't take is the god damn pillow they put under his head. It's Cara's. He can smell that scent of the perfume she's liked to wear since she was sixteen. And just smelling her makes him feel sick.

It's funny how, you think you know someone, you know them for so many years, and then something happens and you realize they're not who you thought they were, they don't believe in the same things as you and you try not to let it destroy your relationship, but it does. John guesses he's a hypocrite in that way. Cara's always believed in telling the truth. John had spread too many lies to go back on them. He had always believed he was doing the right thing though, that hiding was the best course of action. Granted, it was partly because of him fucking up at Ultra, being a fugitive and all. But it was acceptable to hide back when they used to know nothing, when they used to know no one, used to have nothing to use against anyone or any skills or tools to make that one smart move that changes everything. The only thing John could do back then was pretend that the Promised Land was non-fiction, that Stephen's Dad was indeed alive somewhere, stuck in the catacombs of Rome or some fantastical theory. It wasn't like he was lying about the existence of the mythical safe haven, Roger had mentioned it before. John guessed he talked about it so much he started to believe it himself.

But now, he's beginning to think the only way to survive is to coexist instead of relying on some fantasy place. Now they had a sizeable group of friends, or allies, or whatever. Technically they're Cara's. John did always feel like a prison warden, keeping the Tomorrow People they 'liberate' captive in the only safe place they knew - it used to feed into his ongoing lie. But the potential that Tomorrow People could coexist with human beings, it's beginning to feel possible to John. If enough humans were convinced of their peacefulness at least, if the fear that they are trying to take over the world gets squashed, if he brought his people out in such large numbers, Ultra couldn't stop them, the government couldn't stop them. The world would be forced to accept the existence of superior beings, but with John's ideology, they could coexist. It's better than hiding anyway.

 _Aren't you tired of picking the lock? It's never going to break_ , John sends to the person trying to read his mind.

Shortly after, Russell enters the office, closes the door behind him, "I'm not the best at telepathy, I guess."

"You've just gotta be good at blocking when you have a girlfriend like Cara," John laughs.

Russell leans against the door, rakes his hand through his hair, "Cara doesn’t want us to talk to you, thinks you're bad news."

"Well you don't have to listen to everything she says, we're friends right?"

"Yeah, but I guess, I mean she says the reason why you got hurt was because you didn’t listen to her."

John's face crumples, then after a while, says "I got hurt because some crazy person thought it was a great idea to attack me with an ancient weapon."

Russell perks up, "right, I wanted to talk to you about that. I had some ideas, maybe we could track them down with what kind of weapons they used," he moves towards TIM's interface, "I just have to have a look at the footage again, are you okay with seeing it again?"

John clears his throat, "yeah, it's fine, the more we know the faster we can catch these guys."

Russell easily finds a version of the incident on youtube, footage taken from someone's phone. John rests his chin on the pillow and watches. The footage is shaky, but it captures enough of the events for anyone to see that the types of weapons the killers use are unconventional.

"Is Cara okay with you investigating this?" John asks.

Russell doesn't answer, he guesses he didn't get permission. As the video plays through, Russell pauses at certain frames and explains the weapons to John in great detail. He seems to know a lot about each type, describes their uses, the dates they're from. Russell says he used to want to be an archaeologist, dig up artefacts and discover cities. It was the one other option his Father agreed upon, if he wasn't going to be a world famous Pianist.

The blurriness of the film begins to make John feel dizzy so he presses his face into the pillow, tries not to breathe for just a little bit. His shoulder tingles at the same time that he feels Cara's trademark tap in his mind. Get to feel someone trying to read your mind enough and you start to recognize their signatures, that signature knock.

He intends to be standoff-ish but he isn't sure how long his gruffness will last, w _hat's up Cara?_

A pause, _Oh I didn't think you'd be awake yet._

 _Thought you'd do some eavesdropping then huh?_ John sends.

 _Yeah, no I mean I guess I'm glad you're okay. And…_ radio silence, then, _I'm sorry that I didn't predict this._

_No one could have predicted this Cara._

_I still feel responsible. I'm usually the first to know about break outs, guess I've got to refine my skills._

_It wasn't a normal break out, they were organised. Stephen said everything was planned, they're smart, they made sure they couldn't be tracked._

"A trident?" Russell exclaims, bursting out in laughter.

John's ears prickle.

 _You're with someone_ , Cara sends.

_It's Russell. What are you going to do?_

_I'll have to speak to him about following orders._

_I mean about what happened topside._

_Oh that, let Ultra deal with them. The less we're involved, the better._

_Don't you want to avenge me?_

Cara sounds stern, _they deserve whatever's coming to them, but not by my hand, not by my people's hands._

"Hang on a second," Russell says, spiking John's interest.

Russell rewinds the footage, plays it back through. Someone readies a crossbow and behind them, a woman places handcuffed hands onto the man's shoulders and whispers something into his ear.

"Are they being controlled?"

 

TBC


End file.
